The water was freezing cold. Wily felt himself go stiff. At the same time, he felt two paws close around his neck. Wily opened his eyes but everything was blurry. He could only see the outline of a fox’s head and, above him, thick ice. He started to struggle but the vixen wasn’t letting go.
Quickly, he thought about what was in his pocket. No weapons, just his magnifying glass, his notepad (now soggy) and his phone.
His phone. His phone was waterproof, bombproof, everything proof. It would still work.
As the vixen gripped tightly to his throat, Wily managed to move his paw into his pocket and grab his phone. He was holding his breath but he knew he couldn’t last too much longer. With his thumb, he switched his phone to camera mode. He moved it slowly up, in between the arms that were choking him, and started taking pictures.
Even underwater, the light was blinding. Realizing what was happening, the vixen let go and tried to grab the phone.
Which was exactly what Wily wanted. The detective pressed a small blue button on the back of the phone. All of Albert’s gadgets had this button. It was meant as a last resort, but this was a last resort.
These words appeared on the phone’s screen:
Even underwater, the numbers were perfectly clear.
The vixen seemed to hesitate. She looked at Wily and looked at the phone. Then she was gone.
The phone was starting to rumble. Wily swam upwards. There was nothing but thick ice above his head. There was no point trying to find the hole he fell through – it could be anywhere.
This was the second part of his plan, but he had no idea if it would work. He dug his phone into the thick ice, wedging it in place. Then he swam back down.
Wily was about ten metres below the surface when the phone exploded, blasting a huge hole in the ice. The explosion spun him round and round, but he was still conscious. Just.
The detective swam to the surface as fast as he could. He could feel the air in his lungs running out. Black blobs appeared in front of his eyes. He was about to pass out, when his head emerged above the water. He took a gigantic breath and his strength flooded back.
“Albert!” he gasped.
Wily looked around but all he could see was smoke from the explosion. Then a second later, the Vespa’s headlamp appeared through the cloud and Albert was beside him.
“Did you catch her?” he asked.
“No, but I know who she is,” Wily smiled, climbing out. “It’s like Dimitri said – she’s not in the picture, but she’s there all the same.”
Wily pulled the photograph out of his pocket. It was wet but otherwise undamaged.
“You mean she’s hiding behind one of those trees?” said Albert.
Wily shook his head. “Who does the photo belong to?”
Albert thought for a second and smiled. “The person who took it,” he said.
“That’s why she’s not in the photo,” said Wily. “Her name is Klara, and she’s the cleverest fox I’ve ever met. When I was in the river, I saw the outline of her face.”
“But what is she doing – and why?” asked Albert.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Wily, “and I’ll explain.”
Albert drove the Vespa towards the shore.
“Klara was brilliant,” said Wily, as they drove along. “Came top in every exam we took. But she was also superstitious. She had this lucky mascot called Captain Snuggles. He was a small fluffy puffin with a missing eye – she’d had it since childhood. Wherever she went, Captain Snuggles went, too. Every exam, Captain Snuggles was there, sitting on the desk in front of her.”
“So she thought the puffin brought her good luck?”
“Exactly. Then one day, she lost him. Maybe someone stole it as a prank – we never found out. Anyway, she went crazy. Phoned the police. Screamed at them. Insisted they find it. Of course they didn’t take her seriously. It was a soft toy, after all. But from that day, everything changed. Klara stopped working. She came bottom in every exam. Started picking fights with the rest of us. Picked fights with the teachers, too. A couple of months later, she was expelled.”
“Are you saying she’s a criminal mastermind because of a fluffy puffin?” said Albert.
“That’s what started it,” said Wily. “But we have to work out what’s happened since then. And what she’s up to now. Did you pick up the paintings?”
“Then let’s go somewhere quiet and look at what we’ve got,” said Wily.
Albert pulled in by the jetty at the bottom of Red Square. Beside them, other animals were tying up sledges or unclipping their skis.
They parked the Vespa and started to walk towards the palace. They were crossing Red Square when they heard a familiar voice.
“Hold it right there!”
Wily looked up and saw Julius Hound, Sybil Squirrel and fifteen PSSST agents blocking their path.
“Julius … for goodness’ sake…?” Wily stammered.
The PSSST agents were all holding snowballs.
“Give up, Wily,” Sybil pleaded. “Let’s sort this out.”
“I am sorting it out,” said Wily.
“We know you’re involved, Wily Fox,” said Julius. “We tracked down Dimitri to a garage in Paris. Your paw prints were all over it. Then we investigated Dimitri’s gallery here in Moscow. Your paw prints were everywhere, too.”
“That’s because I’ve been investigating the case,” said Wily. “Listen, Julius, the villain behind this is somebody called Klara Kraftypants. I was at detective school with her. These paintings here are all the evidence I need to find her and get to the bottom of what her evil scheme is.”
“Here’s what I think of your evidence,” said Julius. He turned to his agents. “Now, FIRE!”
The agents began pelting them with snowballs. Wily quickly grabbed Albert and rolled out of the way, ducking behind a snowdrift.
“OK, Albert,” he said. “You roll ’em and I’ll chuck ’em.”
The mole immediately started rolling snowballs and lining them up next to the fox’s feet. Wily threw his first snowball, which hit a junior sergeant on the nose.
The agents threw again – snowballs landed to the left and right of Wily and Albert, but the snowdrift stopped any direct hits.
Wily poked his head over the top of the drift and a huge snowball flew between his ears.
“Julius!” Wily called out. “Klara is planning something big. We’re wasting time fighting like this.”
Julius’s reply was another snowball, followed by a dozen more from his agents. Their snowballs started to knock lumps out of the top of the snowdrift.
“We’re losing our shield, Albert,” said Wily. “Can you roll any faster?”
But Albert was running out of breath.
“Let me take another look at their position,” said Wily.
He poked his head out from behind the snowdrift again and a giant snowball caught him on the cheek.
“Give up yet?” barked Julius.
“Right,” said Wily, kneeling down next to Albert. “I’ve got a plan. They’re backed up against the palace wall. There’s a giant blanket of snow balanced on the roof.” He whispered something into Albert’s ear. Albert frowned and then nodded.
“Good,” said Wily.
He rolled Albert around in the snow until he had made a giant snowball. Then, using all his strength, the detective picked up his Albert-snowball and flung it at the palace roof. It flew through the air, soaring over the PSSST agents’ heads.
“Not even close!” growled Julius.
The Albert-snowball landed on top of the palace roof, just as Wily had planned. The mole burst out and began kicking and pushing the snow on the roof.
There was a rumbling noise and Julius glanced up. Just as he realized what was happening, a huge avalanche of snow rolled down from the roof, burying the bulldog and his agents in a two-metre-deep snowdrift.
“Chill-out time!” laughed Wily.